What Are You Now?
by Elma MacBetsy
Summary: After 'The Message', Mal contemplates his life.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Firefly. And...(I gotta say it) Joss is Boss**

_What are you now? What are we now?_

The words hung in his mind, long after the day was done. Much longer than he'd have liked. Seeing Tracey again had brought so much trouble to Mal, even after they'd dealt with the feds. Tracey was so close – too close – to what Mal had been once. To what Mal could still be, easily. Without Serenity, without his crew…that could have been him.

More troubling still was that he had no answer to Tracey's question. The words spoke to him in a way he didn't much like, and he desperately wanted to find a response so he could shut the whole thing away. But the only rejoinder that came to mind were words long spoken.

_You're lost in the woods. _

That's what Inara had told Simon, a long time ago.

_We all are. Even the Captain. The only difference is he likes it that way._

Another time he might have laughed at how even with all her fancy training Inara could still read things so wrong. Lost in the woods he was, but he didn't like it. Sometimes he would take a step back and review his life so far. How he'd been a wholesome farm boy from Shadow, how he'd run off to war young, too young really, and been a hero with medals to prove it, medals that had been taken off him in the POW camps after the war and probably melted down. How he'd had to command too many people than he was really able, and how every one of them had respected him, admired him, and followed him without complaint. And now…well, what was he now?

_A man of honour in a den of thieves._

That's what Badger had said. Except Mal didn't think that was right either. Mal had left honour behind a long time ago. As far as he was concerned the only vestiges he had left of being a soldier was a cool head in crisis and a precise aim in battle. Honour, belief, morals…he'd abandoned them long ago. He'd developed a keen criminal mind, or so others had told him. He had a rep as a stone-cold killer, according to Tracey.

So was that what he was now? Killer? It was an apt description as any. He'd killed people before, and not always for a reason. It wasn't always self defence. He'd shot unarmed men before, without remorse. He didn't know how many people he'd killed in his time. Dozens? No, hundreds. Maybe more.

His mother had warned him before he'd signed up for war. She hadn't questioned his decision, knowing that he was far too set on justice for her to be able to sway him. But she had wanted him to consider just what it was he was going to do.

"_When you kill a man it changes you, son. Don't matter if it's in the midst of battle, don't matter if it's his life or yours. Don't matter how bad the man you kill was, it _will_ affect you, Malcolm. You'll remember that moment for the rest of your life. Don't matter where you go or what you do, you'll always have someone's blood on your hands. You ready for that?"_

At the time he'd humoured her, promising he'd think about it. He never once questioned how she knew what it was like as he was fair sure he wouldn't like the answer. His momma had been right, of course. 'Cept she didn't mention how much worse it was when you killed your second man. Or your third. Or any number after that. That was how a man became 'stone-cold'. When you reached the point that you could shoot a man without blinking, without thinking, and sleep well that night.

Mal didn't sleep well at night. It wasn't guilt for any particular kill. Just a general overexposure to death. If he felt guilty at all, it was only when he imagined how his mother would react if she could see him now. How she would sigh and slowly shake her head before leaving him alone in the black. A mother's disappointment, imagined or not, isn't easily shaken off.

It wasn't as though he couldn't justify his actions. Since he'd found Serenity and his crew, almost every action he took was for them even if they didn't know it. Whether it was giving up his share of food when things got really bad so that the others wouldn't go hungry, or disposing of someone threatening his crew, or spending his own money on extra fuel so they could take the long way to their destination and avoid any feds, he would always look out for them, even if they didn't know it. They'd already proven a few times that they weren't going to return the favour. Jayne and his betrayal, Wash and his jealously, Inara and her insults, Simon and his refusal to fully trust Mal. But yet he still always protected them; another shred of the soldier, perhaps?

He'd thought a few times of giving the whole thing up. Not quitting the job, but just letting himself get taken down in the next gun fight. He was well aware that he'd got through half his injuries by sheer force of will. It would be so easy to just…not. Sometimes it was only the belief that his crew needed him that kept him alive. But what if they'd be fine? Zoe was a more than adequate leader, Jayne could learn to be loyal, and given time Simon could be a fighter. Probably. Was that what he was now? Suicidal? A dark horse? He'd felt that for a long time before he got his crew. Had he been right?

"Cap'n, Zoe wants you on the bridge." He looked up at the sudden and breathless arrival of Kaylee. He moved away from where he'd been leaning on the railing looking over the cargo bay and started walking to the bridge.

"Did she say what for?" He asked, glancing back at Kaylee behind him. She shook her head.

"But it sounded important." Mal nodded. He reached the bridge a few seconds later.

"Zoe?" She turned the instant she heard his voice.

"Sir, we got an Alliance cruiser hailing us again. Apparently River's arrest warrant's been updated to include us." Mal stared out into the black, where the Alliance cruiser was just barely visible, and briefly considered Zoe's motive for asking. Did she know what to do? Was asking him just a formality? He had to know.

"We've dealt with this before. You know what to do?" For once Zoe looked hesitant.

"I don't…I'm not…" Mal looked her in the eye, letting her know that he was completely serious about this. "Sir, I don't know whether you would want to run or not." He shook my head.

"Running's no good. That ship'll be faster than you expect. We'd never get away in time." She frowned.

"So we put River and Simon in suits, like last time?" Again, he shook his head.

"Last time they just suspected they were here. Now, they think they know for certain. It won't be so easy to fool 'em." Zoe looked slightly perplexed.

"So…we think of something else." Mal shook his head for the third time.

"Those are our options, Zoe. There _is_ nothing else."

"I don't…" She faltered. "Sir, I don't know what you want me to say. You're the captain." Mal spent another moment wondering if she really didn't know what to do or if she was just respecting his position. Right now, it didn't really matter. He spent a few more moments weighing up their options before he voiced the decision he'd made as soon as he'd stepped on to the bridge.

"Wash? Go for hard burn. We run, this time." He nodded once in affirmation just as Mal turned and left the bridge. He went straight to his bunk, sitting on his bed trying to figure out where he stood now.

Zoe had deferred to his opinion. She hadn't known what to do. He had, without a second of thought. He was a leader, no doubts about it. So perhaps he wasn't so different to how he was in the war. He still made the decisions, still saw things in a way that others maybe didn't. He felt a little happier then, to know what his place was in the 'verse. He would lead, and they would happily follow.

Of course, a little voice in the back of his head reminded him, the majority of the people who'd followed him in the past had ended up dead.


End file.
